


on the uses of sorrow

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Daisy is Pandora, Gen, Skye | Daisy Johnson-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: All her life, Skye has had her box.All her life, she has known not to open it.
Relationships: Jiaying & Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33
Collections: o for a muse of fire





	on the uses of sorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekretny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekretny/gifts).



> For sekretny. I've been mulling over how to best do this poem justice, and I hope that you like the direction I decided to take it - thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> Based on this Mary Oliver poem:  
>  _(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)_  
>    
>  _Someone I loved once gave me  
>  a box full of darkness._
> 
> _It took me years to understand_  
>  that this, too, was a gift.

She carries the box with her wherever she goes.

It’s strange, you see, because no one else seems to notice the box in Skye’s hands. Even when she holds it out to Coulson — the most vulnerable she’s ever been with someone, if she’s honest — he doesn’t see it. He just sees an empty hand, and he takes it, which is nice, but not exactly what she was looking for. She wants someone to see the box. Why? She doesn’t quite know yet, but there’s a lot she doesn’t know.

Here’s one thing she does know: she’s had the box as long as she could remember. She carried it from the orphanage, from foster home to foster home, protecting it all the while. Then, it had been convenient that the box is, apparently, invisible to anyone other than her.

Here’s one thing she doesn’t know: what is in the box.

Here’s another thing she does know: whatever is inside is important.

If anyone asked Skye to explain how she knows the contents are important, she wouldn’t be able to. It’s instinct, like breathing.

In the same way, she knows not to open it. Breathe in, the box is important. Breathe out, _keep the box closed._

Skye’s curious, of course. Some days the compulsion to dare the lid open is so strong she has to sit on her hands and count backwards from one hundred and do anything, anything at all to resist the call.

She has to. She doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything, but she has to keep the box closed.

The box is heavy. Heavier than it should be, for being a cube of wood small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. Skye carries it, because she always has and she’s a little afraid of what will happen if she puts it down.

(The heaviest things are always the hardest to put down.)

She meets her father, and he can see the box, which is startling.

 _You_ _’re still carrying that thing around?_ he asks the first time they meet.

Skye just blinks at him.

 _Your mother gave it to you,_ Cal continues. _I never did know why._

And then life is a whirlwind, and Skye is whisked away to places unknown. She has the box in her hand when Gordon takes her, and it’s at her bedside when she wakes up.

She finds her mother, and the first thing she wants to ask is what is in the box. Why give her something that gets heavier by the day, why give her something that she doesn’t feel ready to hold?

Skye doesn’t ask, though, because there a hundred million other questions about her past, about her future, about everything in between.

And then her mother dies before she can ask the question.

(It’s easier to say it like that — _her mother dies._ Not _her mother tries to kill her_ or _her father kills her mother_. Just — her mother dies, and that is all that matters.)

The box gets heavier.

\---

She stops wondering what’s in the box, eventually.

It keeps getting heavier.

People leave and people die and people lie and all the while, the box weighs her down. When she’s sure she can’t carry it anymore, she still finds a way, because she doesn’t have any other choice.

She meets her mother again in a different life.

Her mother sees the box in her hands and her mouth turns down at the corners.

 _Sometimes trying to do the right thing comes out all wrong_ , her mother whispers.

Then she takes the box, and Daisy lets her. It had been her mother who had given her the box in the first place, so shouldn’t she be able to take it back?

 _What_ _’s inside?_ Daisy whispers as Jiaying turns the box over and over in her hands.

 _The most precious thing of all,_ Jiaying answers, kissing Daisy’s forehead gently. _Hope_.

And she understands, then —

Sorrow grows heavy over time, but hope does, too.

It is harder to hope when the world falls apart again and again and again. People leave and people die and people lie and all the while, it gets harder for her to hope.

She couldn’t put the box down, because try as she might, Daisy has never given up hope.

Jiaying hands the box back to her wordlessly, and Daisy takes it.

The box isn’t heavy any more.

 _Don_ _’t open it, my flower,_ Jiaying says, tucking a strand of hair behind Daisy’s ear. _You mustn_ _’t look hope in the face._

And she understands, then —

Looking hope in the face will make her realize how futile it all is. Looking hope in the face will be a horrible, dangerous thing. Looking hope in the face will make it escape from her little box, and how could she find it again, in a world as large as this one?

_I won’t, Mom._

And then her mother dies.

But her sister lives.

Her _family_ lives.

She still can’t put the box down, but… why would she want to?


End file.
